by Doug Kelly
The other students had separated themselves from the one who had come to the gathering unprepared, who had the scabbard untethered to his belt, leaving him surrounded in the center of a circle, which was void of other recruits. This wide gap between the unprepared student and all of the others reminded Hauk to instruct them about the importance of distance and varying lengths of weapons, so now he spoke to the entire crowd, because of the perceived deficiencies of just a single student. He shared a valuable warning and more good advice concerning the proximity of an enemy during battle.
“Find and maintain a distance based on a balance of your sword’s length and that of your enemy’s weapon. If you have a shorter sword, get in close and stay within his guard. If you are using a longer sword, keep your distance. With similar weapons, stay about where it will only take one large step forward to attack. Keep your space, but be able to strike your adversary with lightning speed.”
Hauk noticed the student who had needed counsel regarding intelligent restraint was now poised with tranquil self-assurance. Without singling him out, Hauk commented on the improved characteristic.
“Remain calm and confident. Poise can decide a fight just as surely as how you handle your weapon. If you are nervous or frightened, your opponent may try to take advantage of your lack of confidence and attempt to goad you into committing a fatal mistake. Cool warriors tend to make others wary, or even unsettled, which can be fatal during combat. You may also choose to show aggressiveness and intimidate your opponent, or even pretend to be scared in the hope of lulling your enemy into making a fatal error. Be sure of your attack, because it is likely that if you miss with your first strike, your opponent will take advantage and end the fight with a fatal thrust or slash.”
Hauk went to the pile of wooden swords and retrieved one. With his wrist, he twirled the blade, and he appeared like a human windmill during a storm. His speed and agility captured their attention. The students were awestruck. He continued his instruction while he demonstrated exotic flourishes with the sword.
“Once the fight begins, the most important thing is to find the flow of battle and attempt to guide it. If you succeed in finding the flow and controlling it, you have a very good chance of directly influencing the entire fight through your actions. Find the patterns and flow from one move to the next, and try to control your enemy. If possible, avoid fighting more than one person. If you must fight many opponents, try to maneuver them so that they interfere with each other, which would enable you to deal with each one individually. Conserve your energy and never dodge like a maniac. A fight to the death takes an incredible amount of effort, so don't waste your time with unnecessary motion. Look at where your opponent is aiming and move as little as possible. If he lunges and then you sidestep, you’ll most likely have an easy target. Take it. Your survival might depend on this.”
Using the wooden sword, Hauk continued his battle against an imaginary opponent, and he demonstrated his proficiency with the weapon while doing so. After a while, he stopped and let the tip of the fake sword rest on the scruffy pasture grass as he caught his breath. Their real training was ready to begin.
While they waited for the week of Oberlin’s spring festival to approach, this field was where they practiced the art of war every day as the months passed and seasons changed. The winter did pass, and so did the warlord, who was another victim of Trahan’s murderous schemes. Trahan had poisoned Olar to death even though the dying man had already helped arrange and bless the marriage of Lanzo to Esina, which ensured Trahan’s son of the title as warlord.
The date had arrived. It was time to travel to Oberlin to attend the spring festival. The wagon train departed just after dawn for the two-day journey. Larn was in the lead wagon, with Aton seated next to him. Sitting on the uncomfortable wooden bench as they went down the bumpy road, their bodies jolted back and forth. Larn did his best to urge the horses forward while he fidgeted on the hard seat. In one of the procession’s carts, Hauk was with some of the young men that he had trained to fight with swords. He shared stories of combat with his apprentices, recollections of death and destruction. He told them the absolute truth about war, just as he had done with Aton. There was no glory, no manhood on the battlefield, just death and destruction. Crammed tightly in the wagons, seated uncomfortably in contorted positions, most of their heads hung low as they thought about the uncertain fate waiting for them.
At the end of the first day, Aton could see the dusty road stretching forward in the distance, illuminated under the glowing red orb of the setting sun. Along the roadside, the tall green grass fluttered in the breeze in unison with the fresh leaves of spring on tree branches that seemed to flail helplessly in the brisk wind that rose as dusk advanced.
As the wagon train got closer to the stream that divided Tarply’s territory from the deceased warlord’s land, the noise of the horse-drawn wagons spooked a herd of grazing deer. They sprinted away silently as if the air beneath them had suspended their hooves above the meadow. The first day of the two-day trip was ending as the column of wagons advanced on the wide arch of the rock and mortar bridge that spanned the stream and adjoined the separate domains. The clatter of wooden wheels echoed under the stone bridge as clomping horse hooves brought the men of Tarply into their rival’s domain. Hauk’s recruits camped near the creek, so the horses could graze and have fresh water.
On the other side of the bridge, several herds of sheep were grazing across the floodplain. Near the trees that bordered the field, Aton could see his hill people armed with their new spears and bivouacking near their campfires. The aroma of roasting lamb beckoned to him, and he could not resist. As he walked to the encampment near the forest’s edge, Aton heard his name. It was Tig calling out to him, inviting Aton to eat with his people. He joined Tig and the others for a meal of lamb, hard bread, and fresh goat’s milk. After eating his share of cooked lamb, Tig gave Aton half a loaf of bread and a glazed ceramic cup of fresh goat’s milk. While they sat by the fire and talked, Aton tore sections of the bread from his half of the loaf by pinching it with his dirty fingers, and he dipped the pieces into the fresh milk to soften it. He was hungry, so it tasted delicious, but at this moment, he thought there was nothing that could possibly taste better than a serving of vengeance.
While licking what remained of the delicious meal from his fingers, Aton lightheartedly said to Tig, “My friend, you just ate part of your wedding gift to Lanzo Brill, your new warlord. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Tig stood tall with his metal-tipped spear clasped firmly with his right hand. He elevated his weapon and announced, “This is all he gets from me.” Then he raised the spear higher, thrusting it into the air, as if he were impaling a hated enemy, and the others laughed and cheered. The morale of the hill people and that of Hauk’s recruits was inspiring as they united under the threat of a common enemy.
Tired and content after the large meal, it was time for rest. The solitude of the forest was beckoning Aton, so he did not want to keep it waiting. He missed hunting in the forest around his home, and now that he was this close to returning, nostalgic memories of hiking through the woods that surrounded it abounded in his mind. He bid Tig farewell for the night, opting to spend the evening alone, camping like a hunter in the timber. He slipped away between the tall trees to find a safe place to sleep for the night.
His mood and spirits lifted as he walked rapidly through the damp ferns of his arboreal kingdom. He could not contain the joy in his heart. The danger of cannibals or nomads hiding in the woods was nothing at this moment. His swift feet welcomed the forest floor. The trees were not growing so tightly together there, and he moved quickly along between them, as he was accustomed to when hunting in the woods. The sun had already slipped completely under the western horizon by the time he heard an owl call into the dark. After that cue, he made a bed of leaves, curled near a large tree trunk for shelter from the wind during the night, and draped the hooded cloak over his body. Grinning mischievously
, he closed his eyes and thought about home and revenge.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The next morning, they continued the journey to Oberlin. On the way there, Aton observed more flocks of sheep, herds of goats, and men with metal-tipped spears from the hill tribes traveling in the same direction as he was along the road, like clouds gathering for a storm. Because the wedding ceremony was the final event on the last day, Aton had suggested that the united tribes incrementally arrive over the entire week of the festival. In doing so, their great but slowly growing numbers would not raise as much suspicion as a sudden deluge of people, a multitude of strangers from far away, who were converging around the dead warlord’s estate. It was a shrewd plan, because a slow migration of tribesmen leisurely saturating the woods that surrounded the fairgrounds would not attract as much attention at the spring festival as a rapid influx of tribesmen from the hills. Although Trahan expected the herders to arrive with the animals as wedding gifts, there were significantly more men from the hills carrying spears than there were herdsmen with shepherd crooks. Consequently, an unhurried infiltration of the fairgrounds would surely be necessary to prevent any unwanted attention directed at the hill tribes during their arrival. Tig and his forces hid behind the peaceful reputation of their tribes, which had made the slow but constant movement of tribesmen into the woods and countryside surrounding the site of the festival, near the city of Oberlin, much easier to do.
The wagon train from Tarply arrived on the first day of the springtime jubilee to behold the largest crowd Aton had ever seen at the yearly event. The ocean of people from different clans and distant villages moved in waves and currents, as if it were a stormy body of water flowing and undulating around islands of canvas tents. In search of ale, drunken guests would maroon themselves on these isles, but when they ran out of money, the bouncers would throw them back into the sea of people, to drown in their own intoxication.
Aton and Larn found the tent that had been erected for Tarply’s distinguished guests. It was elegant, large, stocked with food, and had an untapped barrel of ale. Near the center of Tarply’s spring festival pavilion, a ring of stones contained a small fire. Thin filaments of white smoke floated lazily from its glowing embers. Supporting this ostentatious gazebo’s peak, a stout pole raised it high, allowing Tarply’s pennant to flutter vigorously in the wind above the summit of the event’s tallest tent. Next to this pavilion, servants had already placed a tall stack of complimentary firewood for the honored guests, who were from the generous village of Tarply. At the opposite end of the fairgrounds, carpenters had constructed the stage for the wedding ceremony.
After unloading their supplies and moving the wagons farther away from Tarply’s grand tent and the unruly crowd flowing beside it, servants came for the horses to take them to the stables. The weary travelers rested on the hard ground, in the shade of the tent, and ate their fill of flatbread and roasted meat. Aton sternly cautioned all of them not to indulge in liquor, because they would need to keep their wits about them.
While the others rested, Hauk toured the area, scouting to determine the number of guards patrolling the estate, how many soldiers were around the fairgrounds, the type and quality of the weapons, and the layout of the property. To conceal the scars of slavery on his wrists, he made sure that he had pulled the ruffled cuffs of his elegant long-sleeved shirt over them. His wide-brimmed felt hat, which had the long feather of an exotic bird protruding from it, complimented Hauk’s attire as he went through the crowd. With one hand resting on his sword’s handle, he walked with his chin up and head held high, carrying himself like a visiting dignitary as he went through the bustling throng of revelers.
At the opposite end of the field, he stopped at the bottom step of the gallows and studied the materials of its construction. Olar must have built it several years ago, because most of the wood was gray and weathered, but executioners had evidently used it recently and frequently. It was apparent that friction from a swinging hangman’s rope, where the executioner had tied it around the crossbeam, had polished the wood, wearing a smooth groove into it and revealing lumber of a lighter color than the oxidized surface of the wood near where the coarse rope had rubbed as it swayed with each successive victim of Trahan and Olar’s wrath. Hauk suspected Lanzo and his father must have been regularly using these gallows, eliminating their political opposition to ensure that the official transfer of power occurred without incident after the wedding ceremony.
Where Hauk stood, he was close enough to hear the running water of the stream that bordered the meadow adjacent to the fairgrounds. The creek was near the woodland, and in those surrounding trees, the green leaves of spring rustled loudly in the breeze with the first synchronized choruses of male cicadas, calling for mates. He went to the cool, babbling water of the stream and drank with his cupped hands. Now, he could hear more activity in the woods. Men were moving noisy sheep and goats between the tall trees. From under the shadow of the forest’s canopy, he saw Tig holding a spear and waving it to him. Then he could see countless others from the hill tribes who were infesting the wooded area that surrounded the warlord’s estate. He knew it would not be much longer before the forest bristled with javelins, like the back of an angry porcupine.
On Hauk’s way back to Tarply’s tent, on the other side of the fairgrounds, he went to the ceremonial stage that volunteer carpenters from near and far had constructed for the wedding. The matrimonial platform was strangely close to the gallows. Except for a table, the wedding stage was bare, and it was unguarded. He leaned against the wide nuptial stand, and stoically gazed at the noisy crowd while he watched the movements of the stockade’s guards and soldiers from Oberlin, who were weaving their way through the bustling throng. The security patrols were random, and the guards were undisciplined, so Hauk expected that by the last day of the festivities, alcohol would have taken its toll on his opposition. Before going back to his tent, he went to the rear of a guard shack, and with the tip of his sharp dagger, carved a superstitious symbol for bad luck into the wood, to curse the enemy.
Early the next day, another feast began in the open air. While the banquet was still progressing, a selected group assembled for a procession. Just after noon, at the sound of an ox horn, Lanzo, with Esina next to him, started to march. He walked with his fully decorated warhorse beside him and jeweled sword in his hand. The horse and weaponry were all for show, because neither he nor his father had actually participated in any battles. Why risk their own lives when they could force others into combat? The Brill family flag was on his right. To decorate this pennant, an artisan had skillfully embroidered an eagle that was clutching a snake with its powerful talons. A long pole suspended the banner high as it fluttered elegantly in the breeze. His guards followed closely, organized by rank. Immediately after walking through the gate of the enclosure, the procession went through the crowd, to the nearby village of Oberlin. Lanzo had paid the townspeople to throw spring flowers in front of Esina and him. The route was through the village, and that was where Lanzo stopped the parade before turning the procession around. In front of a gathering of the town’s residents, who were hesitant to acknowledge any joy at his arrival, he announced the temporary suspension of taxation to a crowd that finally cheered his presence, although reluctantly, because of this welcome news. After Lanzo passed through Oberlin, his father quickly dispatched his messengers to convey that there would be no suspension of taxation, but actually, there would be an increased levy against the people to pay for the extravagant wedding and its festivities. The villagers’ hatred for this tyrannical father and son could not have been more palpable. After Trahan’s cavalcade completely left the village and headed back to the heart of the revelries near the warlord’s estate, the music in Oberlin really began to play, and their feast commenced, unfettered by the presence of the tyrannical father and son.
During the following days, there were horse races, wrestling, foot races, competitions of skill with blunt swords, and a variety of othe
r athletic contests that all continued well into the late evening hours. Hauk yearned to enter a sword-fighting contest, but he did not. When rival villages had participated in mock battles, armed with shields and sticks instead of real swords, he had been beside himself with desire to unleash his recruits into the competition. He discussed this craving with Aton. After a short deliberation, they both agreed it would be better to have ascetic anonymity hide their unity as a fighting force and not attract unwanted attention, so throughout the week they remained on the outskirts of the games.
While the merriments unfolded, Aton remained reclusive, and he had some of his men search for his family. Rather than risk someone recognizing him and usurping his freedom, Aton remained around the tent, hidden within his own crowd, and rarely ventured from the shadow of the canvas during daytime. Sometimes during the evenings, he would don his hooded cloak and roam the fairgrounds, hiding from familiar faces, concealing himself from people he knew during a different time in his life.
The first news of his family, which his loyal spies had brought back to him, was that Trahan had disbanded Aton’s clan. It was now under Lanzo’s name and control. Trahan had influenced Olar to cast Aton’s father and mother, Davin and Treva Matin, and his cousin, Briand, into perpetual servitude. Aton searched the surrounding farmlands, but never found his family, because he later learned that it had been several months since Trahan had used them as laborers in the fields. Late one night, he discovered his family’s true fate when his spies brought to him some more devastating news.
